


Quite the Opposite

by altairattorney



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Episode: e053 The September Monologues, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 08:16:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2644664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altairattorney/pseuds/altairattorney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whenever Cecil chooses to, the arrows are there for him to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quite the Opposite

What more is there to say?

Nothing, really. No point in fighting a lost battle.

It is one of the disturbing bits of reality Cecil will never really grab hold of, no matter how small and dangerous. When he thinks about it, it was the first of the truly maddening things in his life, and is the worst to this day — there may be much that makes him want to scream in frustration, but absolutely nothing beats  _that._

Still, the things actually worth screaming about are other and  _so many._ It is only wise to find a compromise, tasteful to go for something subtler — something like a rough, long groan towards the night sky. That sounds about right.

So he groans, and the sky stares back.

Whenever Cecil chooses to, the arrows are there for him to see. Pretty dim, actually, and maybe shakier than before — a lot more, at least, than the one sight he remembers from his younger years.

To tell the whole truth, he does not have much left of that time. That his memories were taken care of accordingly, and of that only, he is certain; after all, sooner or later, some thing were sure to come along.

Conditioning, re-education, school, truth — so many names for one meaning. They all served the same purpose, the same thick veil between them all and the sky. 

He is alive, in any case; it is more than others can say, and there is no reasonable purpose in ruining that. Whatever chance he had to know, if he ever had one, is gone for good. The truth is unfamiliar — yet, unlike Steve, Cecil does not care. 

Almost all of the world is built on those things. Too many, obscure, unreachable. What Cecil knows, on the other hand, is right within his reach; even so, it is unique, and far too precious to miss.

He never fails to remember, in the rare times he studies the arrows. Not a single one of them has the glow of Janice’s face. The infinite sequences of dots will never make sense to him, not as much as Carlos’ hair does. Their cold harmony lacks the fire of his words — it will never lead his fellow citizens to rest, wrapped by their homes, far from the sharp angles of an eternal geometry. 

Why throw it all to waste, when thinking of the unknown alone is dangerous?

He is aware of his choice. The truth will never keep them safe — he couldn’t care less about lying, as long as it protects them all.

Who knows, Steve may be right. In some ways, love does make him limited. But he sees it, too, every time he looks up with the intention of reminding himself — if a little hazier, Cecil’s eyes are no other than his.

The true difference lies in how they look at it.

Cecil cannot deny it; the sensation is cold and stinging, just like the nightly air of the desert. The truth is written in between the stars — it is timeless and unwavering, and even layers thick as those of the passing years could only do so much to dim its shine.

What Cecil loves the most is all ephemeral. People with changing shapes and souls, unique and gone with each passing second; people with warm and soft skins, people that can smile, touch, bleed, pass away.

Ignoring the truth never made a difference in Cecil’s life. Acknowledging it most definitely would.

He flinches, turning his gaze to the cooling dunes on the horizon. It is only right to be distracted. Taking a bath, having dinner, checking his phone — doing what he is supposed to do sounds just fine to him.

Otherwise, well, no. He won’t go there.

After all, he realizes as his nails dig in the wheel, the people who claim to see might really be the blindest. Even a child knows better than the moron — everyone in town does, that is.

The point is, the thing Steve loves the most cannot be wounded. 

And Cecil suffers once more, relentlessly, as he imagines how much the truth would cost him instead.

**Author's Note:**

> What I loved the most in Steve's monologue is the fact that both him and Cecil are clearly flawed and realistic characters. Both of them just don't get the motive of the other's behaviour, and what exactly is so essential and important to the other. I thought I'd give you Cecil's perspective, just as valid and imperfect at the same time.


End file.
